


Iter Transtemporale

by Impala_Chick



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Historical, Hunters & Hunting, Magic, Multi, POV Alternating, Sharing Clothes, Team Parents, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7641655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Why are we in France?” Melissa persisted, as she got up to follow the woman. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“There’s a war on!” A few women in front of Melissa shouted in response.</i>
</p><p>Takes place during season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iter Transtemporale

**Author's Note:**

> The title means 'time travel' in Latin. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [do-what-the-knight-tells-you](https://do-what-the-knight-tells-you.tumblr.com/) for the beta!

Melissa groggily sat up in bed and reached for her alarm clock to stop the high-pitched buzzing that had filled the bedroom. Instead of hitting cold plastic, her fingers brushed against hair. Human hair. Melissa sat bolt upright in a panic. She definitely had not gone home with anyone last night. Right? 

The lights in the room came on and the buzzing stopped. Mattresses were lined up along a drab beige wall, all on metal frames. She had indeed touched the hair of someone else, but that person was a woman who was in the next bed over. The beds were so close together, Melissa could reach her arm across to touch her. The woman sat up and peered blearily at her. All the other beds also were filled with women who were sitting up and putting on white nurses’ shoes. Melissa looked down at herself, and noticed she was wearing a long white night gown with frills along the collar. She did not recognize it.

“Why do you look so shocked? It’s 6 am. Time to get up.” The other woman said. Most of her hair was wrapped up in curlers on top of her head.

“Where am I?” Melissa asked. The only explanation she could think of was this must be some sort of elaborate dream.

“Honey, we are in France. We just got here a week ago, remember? Get moving, we have to get out on the floor.”

The woman laughed and got up to follow the rest of the women out of the room. Everyone was in the same white night gown as Melissa. 

“Why are we in France?” Melissa persisted, as she got up to follow the woman. 

“There’s a war on!” A few women in front of Melissa shouted in response.

Melissa was reminded of the war her son was fighting, in Beacon Hills. The Beast was relentless and ruthless and Scott seemed in over his head. She needed to figure out a way to wake up before something terrible happened.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The brunette shot Melissa a worried look. After passing through a doorway, Melissa found herself in a locker room. She kept following the brunette because she didn’t know what else she should do. 

The brunette stopped at a grey metal locker with a piece of white tape across it that said “Margaret.” Next to hers, another locker had a piece of tape across it with “Melissa” written in block letters. In Melissa’s own neat handwriting. 

This dream kept getting stranger and stranger.

A lock secured the metal hinge on the right side of the locker. Melissa looked around, bewildered, as all the other women in the room started to open their lockers. The room was filled with the sounds of women gossiping and laughing as they changed into starched white nurse’s uniforms. 

“Get a move on, hon.” 

Melissa was at a loss for what the combo might be, but then her fingers seemed to start spinning the dial of their own volition. She tried Scott’s birthday, and the lock clicked open.

When she swung the door open, a starched white nurse’s shirt and skirt was folded up neatly in the bottom. There was also a white nurse’s hat hanging from a hook. And a tiny, black and white picture of Scott was taped on the door. Melissa stared at it and fingered the frayed edges. Scott was smiling, and his hair was long and curly. He couldn’t have been more than 12 years old. He had on a collared shirt and a dark tie, and there was a large tree standing behind him. Melissa was positive she had never seen the picture before.

Melissa looked over at Margaret, who was fully dressed already. The woman was pulling curlers out of her hair and throwing them into her locker. 

Then, a bell clanged overhead and the women around the room started to slam locker doors.

“What does that noise mean?” Melissa asked.

“10 minute warning. We’ve been here a week and it ain’t that different from England. Get your head on straight before you get in trouble.” Margaret chided her before she shut her own locker and snapped the lock shut.

“Right,” Melissa muttered as she hastily pulled off her gown and pulled on her nurse outfit. No need to be embarrassed getting nearly naked in front of strangers, since this was just a dream. 

Over the breast pocket of her white shirt, “McCall” was stitched in green thread. Margaret noticed Melissa staring, and patted her on the shoulder.

“I can hardly believe this war either sometimes,” Margaret said softly. Melissa had no idea what she was talking about.

“But don’t forget your curlers!” Margaret walked out of the room from a different door than the one they had entered through. Melissa reached up to touch her head, and realized her hair was in curlers. She hastily started pulling them out as the room started to empty. 

She finished and slammed her locker shut to run after Margaret. 

When she burst through the door, the smell of antiseptic nearly overwhelmed her. The huge room resembled a warehouse. Beds were lined up along both walls, and the beds were filled with bodies. Some beds had IV lines connected to wire IV racks that held up clear bags of fluid. The women in nurse’s uniforms started attending to the beds and the room filled with the sound of low murmurs as nurses comforted the sick. Other women started to stream past Melissa into the locker room. The women who were leaving looked exhausted, their once-white uniforms now covered in dirt or fluids.

Melissa had walked into a hospital. A hospital that had just changed shifts.

Melissa desperately looked around, unsure of what to do. She had lost track of Margaret, and this didn’t feel like just a dream anymore. Melissa pinched her arm, but nothing happened. 

“Hello? What’s wrong with you?” One of the nurses who was leaving the room shoved at Melissa, clearly annoyed. 

“Get out of the way.” Someone else muttered as they walked past.

“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” A woman grumbled and shoved a newspaper in Melissa’s face. 

Melissa grabbed it before she stepped out of the way. Although she was afraid to read it, she unfolded it anyway.

  
**THE STARS AND STRIPES**  
Daily Newspaper of U.S. Armed Forces in the European Theater of Operations

Below the name, on the righthand side of the front page, Melissa found the date.

_July 14, 1944_

Melissa’s heart dropped out of her chest. 

“SCOTT!” Melissa screamed. She got some weird looks from other nurses, but no one answered her.

~~~ 

The last thing John remembered, he had been sitting at his desk at the Sheriff’s station, filling out reports. He had been out in the field so often lately, trying to stop The Beast. But nobody had yet been able to figure out who The Beast was, or how to defeat it, so John had figured a long night catching up on reports and sifting through intel might reveal more clues. He stood up to stretch. That’s when he noticed he wasn’t in his office anymore.

Instead of his computer, there was a large dark green typewriter occupying most of his desk space. The rest of the desk was cluttered by pieces of paper, along with pens and bottles of ink. A promotion certificate from the U.S. Army was framed and hanging on the wall immediately to his right. It had his name on it. 

John didn’t have time to be bewildered, because a large man in an olive green army uniform started banging on his door.

“Master Sergeant Stilinski, we’ve got a problem.”

John opened and closed his mouth, not sure what to do. Either this was a hell of a dream, or Stiles was pulling some elaborate prank to get back at him for asking if time travel was real.

“Get your ass down to the hospital and investigate this. You’re an MP, ain’tcha?” 

The Sheriff’s curiosity was peaked. Seeing no other options, he decided to go with the flow. 

“What kind of problem?” 

“You’ll get a kick out of this. Some broad who works at the hospital started yelling about a guy named Scott? She was running around, apparently looking for the guy. She’s calmed down but they want you to come check her out and see if she’s stable.”

“There’s no psych on duty there?” John couldn’t help but ask. This didn’t really seem like the kind of issue the military police should be handling. 

“We are in the middle of war-ravaged France, we got here a week ago, we are severely undersupplied and understaffed, and you’re asking me if the Army brought along psychologists? Why would we spend money on a thing like that?”

The guy looked incredulous, so John shrugged. 

“What hospital?” John asked.

“13th Field Hospital. I’ll take you.” 

John followed army man past the front desk and out of the small building. There were more army guys in olive uniforms outside, and they all saluted John as he walked back. He awkwardly saluted back. Stiles knew a lot of people, but there was no way he knew _this_ many people.

His escort jumped into a green, open-top jeep and turned the key. It roared to life as John hopped in. John started feeling the sides of the jeep as the army man pulled out onto a dirt road.

The jeep’s door was completely solid, and the paint didn’t peel at John’s touch. Then, John grabbed army guy’s arm. He was real, too. 

“What are you doing?” The guy shouted over the jeep’s engine, his face alarmed.

“That was a big turn, I thought I was going to fall!” John quickly lied. He put his hands back on his lap and tried not to panic. This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t Stiles’ doing. So what was it?

The army man stopped the jeep in front of a huge nondescript white building, and motioned for John to get out. 

“Uh, thanks for the ride?” John said as he got out. He kind of wished army guy would stay with him, just because he was the only friendly face. But the guy was looking at John like he had grown a second head, so that wasn’t going to happen. Clearly the arm-touch had not been received well.

Army guy sped away, and John started off towards the large double doors of the building. Above the doors, someone had hurriedly scrawled 13TH FIELD HOSPITAL in block letters with black paint. 

John’s hand reached out to grab the handles of the doors, but then a thought occurred to him. He walked to the corner of the building to peek around the back. He expected to be greeted by the sight of the Nemeton, because that’s the only explanation that would have made sense to him.

Instead, he saw a vast array of green jeeps, white tents, and boxes stamped US ARMY. The scene was familiar to John because of his time in the Army, except the supplies themselves looked outdated. Like his uniform.

Out of ideas, John strode into the hospital. He was confronted with the smell of antiseptic. Some of the soldiers lying in beds near the doors looked up at him curiously. Nurses in starched white uniforms and white hats were bustling around but didn’t seem to notice him. He walked up to a nurse and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, m’am. I’m the Sher, I mean, MP. I was sent here to -” John cursed himself. He was not coming off as a particularly competent professional.

The nurse cut him off as she checked the IV line of her patient.

“Yes, Nurse Melissa. Straight back and to the right.” 

“Thank you,” John said. The only Nurse Melissa John knew was Melissa McCall, and he couldn’t help but think of her. He had last seen her a couple of days ago, when she was dropping off Stiles. John had just gotten home from a long shift, and Stiles and Scott had spent the day doing who-knows-what. But Melissa breezed through the front door before John even had time to get up off the couch, carrying a tupperware container full of leftover homemade dinner.

John was pulled from the memory as he walked because several sick soldiers made eye contact with him. He nodded at them, feeling awkward. The gaunt faces and emotionless stares made John shiver. 

He turned the corner on his right and stopped dead in his tracks. 

A woman who looked just like Melissa McCall was stacking white linens on a cart. Her curly black hair was bouncing against her back as she moved back and forth from the laundry bag to the cart, her posture stiff.

“Melissa?” John asked tentatively. Melissa whipped around, and stared. She clearly recognized him. It _was_ Melissa. 

“John? What the hell is going on?” Melissa finally said as she stepped forward to touch his arm.

“Is this real?” John asked instead of answering. He stared intently at her face, unsure what to believe.

“John, we somehow ended up in 1944. This is war-torn France.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” But John already knew by the look on her face that she was serious. 

Melissa pulled her hand back, seemingly satisfied that at least John was real. But John pulled her into a tight hug instead of letting her pull away.

“We’ll figure this out,” John said into her shoulder. 

Melissa pulled back to look at him.

“Our kids aren’t here. At least, not in the hospital. When I tried to go outside, a bunch of nurses stopped me because apparently I’m being too _dramatic_ and I’m scaring the soldiers.”

“I didn’t see anything on the way here. I came from the army base of operations and we drove in a jeep. There are supplies stacked up outside, but nothing out of the ordinary. Considering this is 1944.”

Melissa sighed, her hand on her hip.

“You know who we could really use right now?” 

John didn’t even have to think before he answered. The fact that both of them found themselves in this predicament could only be explained by the nemeton, or magic. They needed someone with a very particular skill set. Someone who also happened to be easy on the eyes.

“Chris Argent.” 

~~~

Chris woke with a start. He tried to sit up, but the pounding in his head caught him off guard and he had to lay back down. He took a deep breath and tried again. As he slowly rose to an upright position, a woman in a starched white nurse’s uniform rushed over to him. Chris noticed the red cross on her arm band, and the curls that stuck out from under her white hat. Then, he saw her red lipstick.

_Shit._

“You should lay back down, soldier. They said you suffered from a pretty bad fall.”

“What year is this?”

“My, my. That must have been some fall.” The woman looked at him like he was a wounded dog about to be put down. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him.

“Just answer the question.”

“It’s 1944, you buffoon. Let go of me.” She hurried away, clearly disturbed.

“Damnit, it didn’t work!” Chris yelled, angry. He should have known better than to trust Gerard.

“Watch your mouth, soldier,” a nurse chided him from a bed over. Chris glared at her. Today was not his day.

He peeled the covers off and stood up, searching his pockets. What he needed was still in his right jacket pocket. Chris ignored the shouts from some of the nurses as he headed for the big double doors at the front of the hospital. He wouldn’t be able to cast a spell with all of these people around.

“Stop!” A gruff male voice rang out above the calls of the nurses, and Chris stopped in his tracks. He certainly did not feel up for a fight at the moment, and he didn’t have any weapons, but he would do what he had to do. He squared his shoulders and turned around.

When Chris turned around he was pleasantly surprised. Stilinski was looking at him like he had grown a third head. Melissa stepped forward, a disbelieving smile on her face. 

Then it dawned on Chris just how peculiar this situation had become. His face must have showed his concern, because Melissa stilled, unsure. But then she walked towards him, and grabbed his hand. Chris squeezed hers and watched Stilinski watching Melissa. His features visibly softened, and Chris was suddenly grateful that he at least hadn’t gone back in time by himself. 

“We need to talk,” Melissa said as she looked between Chris and Stilinski. Chris nodded and followed them down the hall. 

Melissa pushed them through the doorway of the linen closet and pulled the door shut.

“Nothing bad has happened to either of you, right?” Chris looked between the two of them.

“We are fine. What the hell are we doing in 1944?” Stilinski said

“Please tell me Scott and Stiles are okay,” Melissa pressed, her hand on Chris’ arm. She reached out with her other hand to hold Stilinski’s arm too, as if to steady herself. 

“Yes, they are fine. I thought this might give me some answers about The Beast.” 

“What kind of answers?” Melissa asked.

“Wait, how are we in 1944 in the first place? This is way outta my league,” Stilinski said. 

Chris held up a hand to stop the questions. He was going to have to start from the beginning. 

“There are legends about The Beast. There are legends about alter-egos, too. And doppelgangers. Nothing so far has worked to reveal the identity of The Beast. But the story of The Beast has long been intertwined with the story of The Argents, so I thought I would get creative. I hypothesized that The Beast might be my alter-ego. To find out if that were true, Gerard suggested I try using African Dream Root.”

“You can time travel with roots?” Stilinski said, palms raised in a disbelieving gesture. 

“No, dummy. You dream with it,” Melissa said, laughing. 

“This is a dream? But we feel so real.” 

“The most realistic dream we’ll ever have,” Chris said.

“Wait, let’s get back to the part where you thought you were The Beast.” Melissa’s eyebrows were stitched together and her nose was scrunched up, as if she was not amused. 

“I had to be sure. Our subconscious hides nothing,” Chris said with a shrug. A comfortable silence had momentarily descended on the group as the three of them suddenly seemed to realize they were all standing very close to each other. In a linen closet. In 1944.

“Well if that’s true, what are _we_ doing in your dream?” Stilinski asked with one eyebrow raised. Chris looked between Melissa and Stilinski, and felt his chest tighten. He couldn’t put his finger on why.

Melissa smiled slowly, like she had just been let in on a secret. But she didn’t share.

“Can you get us back to Beacon Hills?” Melissa said, her hand on her hip.

“Yes, we just have to eat some of the African Dream Root I’ve got in my pocket and say the magic words.” Chris pulled out the African Dream Root from his right pocket, it’s long yellowing turnip-like body looking just about as appetizing as rotten fruit. He watched as Stilinski and then Melissa took a bite, their faces contorted in grimaces. He took a bite himself, and then put it away.

“Let’s hold hands, just to be sure.”

“If you wanted to hold hands, Argent, all you had to do was ask,” Stilinski joked as he held out his hand. Chris gripped it and enjoyed the warmth of Stilinski’s skin against his own. Melissa grabbed Chris’ other hand and locked their fingers together. She smiled up at him, and Chris smiled back. 

He took a deep breath, and chanted the spell. 

_iter transtemporale peregrinatio transtemporalis_

There was a jolt, and then the linen closet faded away. He felt Stilinski and Melissa squeeze his hands tighter and he tried to hold onto them, but everything was slipping away. Chris shouted for them to hold on, but it was no use. He felt himself dropping, alone, and then he was back into his body. He blinked his eyes a few times to adjust to the bright light of his bedroom. 

Then he heard Melissa laugh.

He turned and realized that Melissa was in his bed too. And Stilinski was on the other side of her. Melissa had Stilinski’s brown Sheriff’s uniform on and Stilinski was wearing Chris’ brown jacket. Both of them were grinning and looking at Chris. Chris looked down at himself and found that he was wearing Melissa’s teal nurse scrubs. The shirt barely fit. 

“It’s been one hell of a day,” Stilinski said bemusedly.

“I do believe the universe is trying to tell us something.” Melissa leaned over and kissed Chris on the cheek. Chris could feel his face turning pink. Despite his failed mission, he felt happy.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Stilinski leaned over and kissed Melissa on the cheek, still grinning. 

The African Dream Root hadn’t revealed The Beast, but maybe it was leading Chris to other answers.

**Author's Note:**

> The hospital is based off the [13th Field Hospital](https://www.med-dept.com/articles/ww2-military-hospitals-european-theater-of-operations/</A), which was moved from England to France on 7 June 1944, and then was moved to Germany on 15 August 1945.


End file.
